Dirty dirty...
Back at some point in 2006, I visited a gay club. I'm not gay - but my friend of many, many years had recently come out and was constantly demanding my presence on a 'boys' night out.

He insisted and insisted that I joined him, citing as precedent the countless times he'd been 'bored to death' in straight clubs watching my futile attempts to pull.

He kind of had a point. Even after he came out, my mate still accompanied me to bars / clubs etc and acted as a great wing man. So I figured I owed him and agreed.

So on Saturday night we arrived at the appropriately named 'Hoist' located somewhere in deepest Vauxhall. This wasn't some fluffy camp Kylie love-in - more a dark and festishy affair under a railway arch, set to relentless nosebleed techno.

I didn't like it.

But I drank on through and soon I was shirtless and throwing my arms into the air, eliciting grins from leather clad, hairy-biker types and overly pumped body builders.

Soon I need a wazz. My mate kindly agreed to escort me and we fought our way to the bog. The toilets were your standard layout of 4-5 cubicles and a massive 15ft long, old-skool iron urinal. But this pissoir had an added feature that I'd never seen before in London's clubland.

When I say this urinal was long, it was deep too and came out about 3ft from the wall. I squeezed my way to a spot near the middle and was just about to unzip when I noticed the 'added feature'.

There was someone lying IN the fucking urinal.

In it.

Lying splayed out, wearing nothing but some sort of lycra bodysuit, covered in piss, fag butts and god-knows what else, was a human being, a person, a real live man. And he was lying in the piss in the fucking urinal.

I stood down from my pissing position and looked on aghast as my mate and everyone else in the line peed freely over the bloke squirming in front of them. The regulars seemed non-plussed but I fought my way out of there.

My friend followed and tried to explain away what I'd just witnessed. 'It's a fetish,' he said, 'quite a common one too and this IS a fetish club.'

This was too much. So I adopted my earlier defence mechanism and tried to drink through it. I had three pints of strong lager in quick succession. I danced a bit. I smoked a lot. And then the inevitable happened. I needed to go. I really needed to go.

So back to toilets I stumbled, desperately trying each of the cubicles before I had to face that urinal. They were all full of ketamine snorting, fisting oddballs. So I turned regretfully to the pisser. It was quieter now and there was only the one bloke - who'd already started to pack his meat away and leave.

So I took my chance. I walked over. I looked down. I looked down into the eyes of the piss-drenched maniac and I started to pee.

I pissed in his mouth. I pissed on his hair. I looked him straight in the eyes and then I pissed directly at them. I pissed in his ears. And I pissed up his nose.

He blubbered and gurgled appreciatively, his eyes never leaving mine as I continued, for what seemed like hours, to empty my full, foul-smelling bladder all over the freak.

And that, is the the most ashamed I've ever been (penis involved or not).